


The lost girls

by captainran



Category: Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie, The Bloody Chamber - Angela Carter (Short Story)
Genre: Anti-Religion, Bible Quotes, Christianity, Dark Fantasy, F/M, Freedom, Gothic, Rebellion, fairytale, mermaid, rewriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainran/pseuds/captainran
Summary: This short story is a dark twist on the J.M. Barrie children´s book Peter Pan. I chose "mature" as there is some display of violence.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story I wrote for a creative project at University. I am studying English Literature but I am no native speaker, so please bare with me and I apologize for any mistakes. I chose to do the portfolio on the female writer Angela Carter and her feminist, in most cases even gothic, rewritings of classic fairy tales.

Epilogue

On the day of her marriage, she wore white, as all brides do. A universal sign of a woman’s innocence and purity and she wore it with such conviction and pride that it was almost unchristian.  
The day she turned 18, all the boys of the neighbourhood raced to her door finally being able to ask for her hand, but she had already been promised. A young man, passing through London, had laid his eyes on her and on her birthday, he took a cap, passing all her suitors and nipped in first. That’s why on her wedding day she wasn´t becoming a Mrs. Turner or a Mrs. Smith: she was becoming Mrs. Darling.

  
Her father had insisted that the wedding ceremony was held in London, afterwards she would accompany her new husband to his hometown. She knew nothing of the world outside of the Capital. All she knew of her new home was that the village was near the ocean and strangely pronounced, the first time George had mentioned it to her, it almost sounded like “Neverland”.  
The day of her departure was bleak, thunder crashed, and the rain was pouring from the sky, imitating the tears on her mother´s cheek. A sudden, forceful gust tore away Mr. Darling´s umbrella and cold rain splashed on the newly wedded. Mrs. Darling shrieked and giggled, earning a sour look from her husband. He was a few years older than his bride, a respected man in the village and at work, the only thing missing was an equally, respectable family life.

  
They drove till morning. The small town lay at the coast and was surrounded by high cliffs. The ocean was a calm, grey surface, a deep pit of unknown. Mrs. Darling observed it, being mesmerized by its beauty.  
A few months after their wedding night, Mrs. Darling discovered that she was pregnant. She was delighted and with every piece of furniture in the new nursery, her joy and belly grew. The baby was born on a stormy Friday evening, at exact 13 minutes to midnight. Two midwives were present, Mr. Darling was waiting outside, he didn´t want to interfere with women business.

  
As the date of birth had been coming nearer, the number of warnings had risen: almost every woman in the village had warned, Mrs. Darling, telling her what a painful, staining experience the birth of a child was, and that it would be crucial to seek for religious assistance. Being it the irony of fate or not, this evening, no religious servant was available due to the weather conditions and much to Mrs. Darling's secret joy, she had to give birth without “religious support”.

  
The birth of her first child was uneventful, nothing of the excruciating pain and torture, that had been predicted. “It´s a girl”, the midwife handed the baby to the smiling mother with a forced almost sad look. She and her co-worker left immediately after they had secured that the mother and child were safe. George entered the room, where his wife was rocking a little white bundle. “Honey? Meet Wendy”.  
Although her life would take some unforeseeable turns, Mrs. Darling would never be able to forget this moment. Shock, denial, disappointment, and anger flushed over the face of her husband leaving behind a stone-cold mask. Without a word he turned on his heels, an left the house with a bang of the front door.  
He returned in the morning, with an elderly woman at his heels. She had thick, black hair, brown loyal eyes that reminded Mrs. Darling of her childhood dog and a genuine smile. “This is Ms. Talam, she will take care of the girl”. “George?”, Mr. Darling ignored his wife´s questionable look and shortly left for work. Angry tears sprang to her eyes and with one hand she pressed sleeping Wendy against her chest and with the other took the warm hand of Ms. Talam, “Please Mrs. Darling call me Nana”.

After the birth George refused to hold or even look at his daughter and barely acknowledged the existence of his wife, so during the next months, Nana was a constant but pleasant presence in Mrs. Darling's life.

  
One afternoon Mr. Darling entered the nursery, the two women were knitting winter jumpers, while Wendy was sleeping in her cradle. “Good morning dear”. Ignoring his wife George turned over to Nana:  
“Ms. Talam, what does the girl eat?”  
“She is still being breastfed, Mr. Darling”  
“How long will this take?”  
“I can not say every child is different.”, Nana smiled and sighed apologetically. With a sour look, Mr. Darling turned around and left the room.  
This spectacle repeated itself and Mrs. Darling was growing suspicious because she knew that Nana was already feeding her 6 months old daughter some solid food. Upon her enquiry, Nana only responded that they should benefit from the ignorance of men. Mrs. Darling felt uneasy lying to her husband, but she was angry at his behaviour towards their daughter, so she played along with Nana´s game.

  
However, the inevitable can only be postponed never avoided. It was mere coincidence that on that particular autumn morning, the sun decided to offer one last warm day before it would enter its winter dormancy and as George was no fan of sweating he used his lunch break to walk home and change into his summer cloak, interrupting the meal of his wife and daughter. The latter was munching happily a piece of bread dunked into tomato soup, leaving red stains all over the tablecloth and her blonde hair. Being a respected man, George was a stranger to disobedience and furious upon this treachery. “How long is the girl already eating?”, Mrs. Darling flinched from her husband´s voice and Nana entered looking scandalized. “Wendy has been eating solid food only a few days”, answered Mrs. Darling, emphasising her daughter´s name. George squinted at her and at Nana trying to detect a lie. “Why have I not been informed?” “You weren´t paying that much attention to your daughter, I didn´t think that her eating behaviour would be of any interest to you.” “Thinking is not a woman´s job”, Mr. Darling left the house, his summer coat being left behind, forgotten.

  
They came at nightfall. After work Mr. Darling had been in an impeccable mood, he ran around the house telling his wife that she should rejoin him in the master bedroom, and he had even gifted her a small bouquet of flowers. During the dinner, he wanted that Wendy was being fed by Nana in the nursery all while he and Mrs. Darling were alone in the dining room. At first Mrs. Darling thought it was a lovely even romantic gesture and she was waiting eagerly for an apology, but even before the main course: roasted lamb and potatoes, she was getting cautious. George, who normally took time to tell her about his day, encouraged her to keep talking all while his eyes constantly shifted to the window. She knew he wasn´t paying attention and his erratic behaviour started to frighten her.  
It was completely dark outside when the doorbell rang.

  
Three men in monk´s habit were standing outside. “Please come in”, George spoke reverently and invited the three inside. They were almost indistinguishable, clean-shaven face, thin hair, brown habit. Two of them had brown eyes the other fair grey and he looked extremely young. “Where is the child, Mr. Darling?”.  
“Upstairs, should I come with you”.  
“No”, although he looked the youngest, by the other two´s behaviour, this monk was clearly a figure of authority and he looked at Mrs. Darling, “I think it would be better if you keep your wife in check, you know how emotional women get”. Mr. Darling nodded and let the men pass. “Who are they George and where are they going? Wendy is too young for being baptized”, Mrs. Darling tried to follow them upstairs, but Mr. Darling blocked her way, “compose yourself, woman, this needs to be taken care of”.

  
“What do you mean?”, shrieked Mrs. Darling and pushed harder.  
“Your husband means that you are in no condition to look after the girl. Women are sinners by nature, the only way to ensure that the soul of your daughter will enter heaven is for her to being raised in God´s way. Parents, especially mothers are too fragile, to withstand the corruptive nature of young girls. We will keep her away from everything that can turn her weak soul until she is old enough to be given into the charge of a husband.” Wendy squirmed in the arms of one of the brown-eyed monks. Mrs. Darling tried to get to her, but George had a firm grip on her arm. “When can I see her again?”  
“At her wedding, if she is worth the Lord´s attention, so pray every day Mrs. Darling that your daughter will follow God´s way, if not she is beyond our salvation.”  
Mr. Darling nodded and opened the door for them, “I know that the girl is in excellent care.

Thank you, brother Peter.” The young-looking monk shook Mr. Darling´s hand and disappeared into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Since they could remember there was stone. Corridors of stone walls, stone benches during the meals, bruised knees bend on the stone ground. It was grey, almost black, very rough and always cold. Even during the hottest summer, it stayed chilly and damp. But it was nothing against the dead grey eyes of brother Peter and his black heart.

  
He was convinced that he was on a mission from God, that he and his brothers in the monastery were chosen to cleanse every girl from her born wickedness. They were lost girls until he pushed them back on the right track. With every year they grew older, their potential for corruption increased, that´s why he took them so young: they fell from their perambulator right into hell.  
“Stay always on the path”,” don´t talk to strangers”, “eat your vegetables”, “be back before dawn”, were warnings the girls never heard from their mothers. They couldn´t remember them either, sometimes when they wept in the night, they thought that they would hear the whisper of a soft voice, the delicate touch of consolation and warmth, but in the end, it was only the murmur of the waves.

  
There were other lines that the girls were told, lines that they had to know by heart, lines which directed their whole lives:  
• “But I would have you know, that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man, and the head of Christ is God." (I Corinthians 11:3),  
• "For the man is not of the woman; but the woman of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man." (I Corinthians 11:8-9),  
• "Let the women learn in silence with all subjection. But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence. For Adam was first formed, then Eve. And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression." (I Timothy 2:11-14),  
• "Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee." (Genesis 3:16),  
• "Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body. Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything." (Ephesians 5:22-24)

With every year a girl grew older, she was being heavier controlled and indoctrinated.  
Until they could walk properly, they were being raised by the older girls and all they had to do was sitting through prayers, then with 4 years, the bible reading started. Although they were not allowed to read by themselves, they had to listen to one of the monks. Turning six years old, they started working. They had to do some easy chores, like helping in the kitchen, but with every mistake, the monks imposed punishment on them: they received no evening meal.  
As they got easily tired and had unsteady hands, a lot of the younger girls had to sleep with empty stomachs. To take their mind away from their hunger and misery, the older girls planned “make-belief-dinners”, a game where the whole group comes together at night and invents a huge, delicious meal. Sometimes one of the bolder girls nicked a piece of bread while one kitchen duty to share with her “sisters” if caught she would be whipped.

The day they bled life got harder. Some were warned by their bodies and they endured pain long before the blood came. Their older sisters could take precautions, others were not so lucky. Wendy was 13 when it started. She had just finished her morning porridge and stood up to wash the bowl in the kitchen when she heard a gasp. Her friend Jane, who was a few years older tried to make her sit down again but it was too late. The red stains on the light-grey coarse linen dress, that every girl was wearing, were treacherous. “And if a woman have an issue, and her issue in her flesh be blood, she shall be put apart seven days: and whosoever toucheth her shall be unclean until the even.”, brother Peter´s voice, resounded through the dining room and the girls flinched ( Levictus 15:19). Wendy started trembling when she followed two monks in a separate room, the others had to do prayer with Peter before he went after Wendy.

Peter was convinced, that the bleeding of a woman, was a sign of God that she was still impure, that this was the first sign that she was listening to Lucifer´s whispers. Although he did everything to prevent it, the girls “grew old”, “grew wicked”.  
So he hit them, the streaks on their back turned their dress as red as the stenches between their legs. That day Wendy learned other lines:  
• "Give me any plague, but the plague of the heart: and any wickedness, but the wickedness of a woman." (Eccles. 25:13)  
• The whoredom of a woman may be known in her haughty looks and eyelids. If thy daughter be shameless, keep her in straitly, lest she abuse herself through overmuch liberty." (Eccles. 26:9-10)

They kept her in solitude and complete darkness for seven days. All she got was stale water and one piece of bread a day. The last day, they shaved her head, her bleeding was proof that Wendy had a weak, corruptive heart and long hair gave her too much femininity and vanity, women should be devout. While a monk cut of her hair he recited: “Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.”. (Proverbs 31:30) With every golden lock, more tears fell until her blue eyes were puffy and red and her nose twitched.  
For every time a girl was bleeding she was not allowed to be talked to or to be touched for seven days, she received a beating and had to go to confession. The older girls taught Wendy some tricks on how she could detect her next bleeding and on how to hide it from the monks because Peter thought it a proof of bad behaviour and was oblivious to the fact that it was a monthly thing


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Description of rape, violence and murder

Malice and a rotten soul are seldom seen from the outside. They are hidden beneath layers of good manners, devotion and a nice smile. Bad deeds are excused by words written by a stranger in a different time and for some, it is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Some days compulsion wins over reason. Some days the eyes see only long, slender legs ignoring the bruises and grazes. Some days hands-only feel a young woman´s breasts and not her rip cage showing through her pale flesh. Some days a mind misunderstands a no for a yes. Some days a religious man confuses a personal choice with the devil´s temptation. 

On those days brother Peter drags a girl by her neck and presents her to the rest of his brothers and the lost girls. Blood is running down her legs and tears down her face. She is the culprit, the evil temptress that had prayed on a man of God, on one of his brothers. Her pleas that she did nothing, that it was the brother who had forced himself on her, are ignored. Her mouth shut with a slap in the face.   
On those days the brother is sent to pray by himself, to go and ask for God´s guidance, to be cleansed of the devil´s touch. The girl, however, has now grown up, she is no longer pure. She is beyond salvation: “And the daughter of any priest, if she profane herself by playing the whore, she profaneth her father: she shall be burnt with fire." (Leviticus 21:9).

On those days her legs have been bound by ropes, shutting away her means of corruption, making it safe for the monks to touch her. They are taking her outside, the wind is crushing into their faces, little sand corns pinching like needles, the ocean is roaring. Not being able to walk she is being dragged by her feet, her gown and back torn by the sharp rocks, and her last minutes filled with agony. There are no prayers, no well-wishes for her soul, no plea to God for forgiveness, only a body thrown into the dark depths of the sea.   
On those days the other girls have to watch how their sister is being pulled underwater, how the waves embrace her body and wash away the blood and finally the pain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: description of domestic violence

For a lost girl, every day is the same until it isn´t. One day brother Peter will enter her bedroom and take her with him, she will never return. Some of the older girls call it: ceremony. 

Jane and Wendy were scrubbing the kitchen floor when Peter entered. The girls shared a quick hug and t Jane went with the monk. He took her to a separate building near the wall. Inside there were a couple of nuns, although they were normally not allowed to look after the girls, because being women they are too soft for offering the right education, they were being called for the last “ceremony”. 9 months before her 18th birthday the girl is being held in a room, her hair is allowed to grow back, her wounds tended, and she is being fed regularly. She is being taught how to smile properly, how to present herself respectably: in short how to be the perfect biblical, subordinate housewife. Jane felt like God himself had blessed her, she could sleep on a normal mattress, she was allowed to wash herself every two days, she wasn´t beaten and she was allowed to take accompanied walks to the beach. 

The day she turned 18, her future husband came to collect her. He was an elderly, rich gentleman, with an estate at the countryside. He had a well-groomed beard and looked rather handsome.   
Jane who had grown quite fond of the ocean was sad to leave it behind but thinking of never having to return to brother Peter, let her almost sprint to the carriage. Not only his waggon was old-fashioned, so were his manners. He opened the doors for Jane and gifted her flowers. The wedding ceremony was a spectacle, as he had invited hundreds of people and their wedding night was painful, it was like the nuns had predicted. They had explained that all the years with the monks, were some sort of training for her mortal soul, so that it was hardened to withstand the luring of the devil and that her life with her husband would be totally different. 

The first lesson Jane learned outside of the monastery: never be deceived by looks. 

The moment they were pronounced husband and wife, her good-looking husband turned into an ugly beast.   
Jane had been used to starving and beatings, but it was nothing compared to the physical and psychological torture she endured under her husband. He was unpredictable, she never knew when he would snap, altering her behaviour did not protect her because there was always something new that angered him. Avoiding him was as bad as paying him attention, agreeing with everything he said angered him as much as staying silent. Months passed and the bruises on her body and soul grew. In the presence of his servants or outsider, he was the perfectly lovable host.

To calm him, she once gifted him a red rose, a gesture which triggered the biggest tantrum: he flipped the table, sending the golden candelabra into the fireplace. He threw her against the wall, chocking her and crashing her head against the mantlepiece. Then he reached into the fire pulling out the candelabra and pushing the hot metal into her face, leaving behind a crooked fire-red scar under her eye. This was the first time, that he had hurt her face and he locked her away. She was hurt, afraid, disappointed but also angry. Angry at the monks and the nuns, for lying to her, for being sinners themselves.   
The burned skin under her eyes festered and a nurse was called to look after her. The woman had tender hands and golden hair that reminded Jane of Wendy. Her precious Wendy who was still in that hole, not knowing what suffering would come after. The more Jane thought about their treatment and the unfairness of it all, the more her anger grew. Although being taught to stay silent in the absence of her husband, Jane started talking to her nurse. 

She asked questions about the outside world, about the ocean, about women, about men. Her nurse was a very patient woman and she answered every question. Like a sponge Jane soaked every bit of information, filling up the blank spots in her head.   
The burn was so bad, that the tissue remained scarred, it was a flaw destroying her beauty but it was also evidence of her husband´s malice. Not Being able to divorce her, he shut her away in the west wing of his estate, employing the nurse full time. He told everyone that his wife was pregnant and didn´t want to see anyone, that gave him nine months before he had to get rid of her, telling that she had died in childbed. 

Jane never talked about her past, she wanted to learn, so her nurse challenged her. After a few weeks, she could read and started devouring every book she could get a hand on. With reading there came different impressions and points of view. There came alternative lifestyles, especially for a young woman and she slowly fabricated her own person and opinion. With every page, her soul longed for freedom and revenge.   
Ultimately she asked :“Nurse, where lies the difference between the Bible and children fairy tales”? Her nurse could or wouldn´t give her an answer and Jane decided that she would no longer let her life be dictated by a book, which was as fantastical as children's bedtime stories. 

One day Jane woke up at night and she heard sobbing coming out of her nurse´s bedroom. “Are you alright?”   
“Jane, I am sorry have I woken you”   
“No, is everything alright?”, the girl sat down at the edge of the bed”.   
“You know, today my little girl would turn seventeen, my little Wendy.”, the nurse sighed, and big tears rolled down her cheeks. Her blue eyes were puffy and red, and her nose twitched. Something stirred inside Jane. At the beginning of her reading lessons, the nurse had introduced her to fairy tales, books filled with wonderful, fantastical drawings. One painting had engraved itself in Jane´s mind: It showed a princess in a high tower, who was guarded by a fire breathing dragon and a rider on a white horse coming for her rescue. The dragon had reminded her of Peter and his lot and like the girl in the tower, Jane had waited for her rescuer. But now it looked like she had to do the rescuing on her own. She took her nurse´s hand and patted it reassuringly “We are going to save Wendy and all the other girls”.


	5. Chapter 5

The gate was never locked, an act of arrogance or naivety, or the simple belief that the religious villagers would never dare to enter the monastery uninvited.   
They came at night. The full moon was shining, reflecting in the blades of their daggers and knives. The ocean laid still, holding its breath. No armour was slowing them down, they moved quickly and silently. 

Like sheep without a shepherd, the brothers were flocked together in a circle being held at bay by the women. “What is this? Do you have no respect before us, before God?”, shrieked brother Peter. “Judgment is upon you Peter, you will no longer mistreat women”. A young woman with a red, crooked scar under her eye was walking towards them, her long hair was dancing freely around her shoulders, she held her head high and looked him directly in the eyes. “I have always known that you were a wicked one Jane Abberton and the devil has marked you as his servant, depart from me witch!” Jane laughed and tapped against the scarred tissue: “It´s Hook, for you.”. 

“What do you want from us?”, asked another monk, who looked absolutely scared by the army of women. “We want nothing, we will take the girls from you and return them to their mothers, with or without your permission, but we will spare your miserable life if you tell us where Wendy Darling is”. The monk´s head turned towards Peter, they looked fearfully. 

“You know exactly what happened to her, you twisted her with your devil talk, making her rotten. Her weak soul had no power against the devil´s bitch.”, cussed Peter. Her nurse broke down crying and Peter smiled wickedly: “God´s punishment, for working with Lucifer is always harsh but righteous Mrs. Darling. 

Jane struck him; his head bobbed like the one of a mindless chicken. “Take them outside.”  
The women bound their arms, fixing them behind their backs. The night was chilly but the wind still, some of the monks plead, others prayed, others tried to delegate the entire responsibility to brother Peter, but none of them were spared. 

They stopped at the edge of the cliff, the water was illuminated by the light of the full moon. Although the sea was quiet, there was an eerie movement right under the surface at the bottom of the cliff. Suddenly one head after the other appeared. They had long, silky hair, adorned with seashells and pearls which covered, large parts of their naked, upper body. They had flawless, beautiful faces, with high cheekbones and deep, predominant eyes. Their skin shimmered, in the light of the moon. They started singing, a choir of alluring voices tender as a flower, a song of lust and promises of eternal love. The men gaped, forgetting God and their hopeless situation. Some of them bent too far over the edge, others jumped out of their own free will. Their bodies splashed in the water, they kicked with their legs trying to get to their source of affection. 

The instant they entered the water, they turned from hunters into prey, the creatures growled, their faces twisted into masks of horror and they pushed their victims underwater. Where there once had been legs, bound together by rope making it impossible to swim, there was now a strong tail, covered in shimmering scales. Although their brothers were ripped in pieces, the monks could not resist the call of the mermaids.   
Brother Peter was the last one to remain on the cliff, “Of the woman came the beginning of sin, and through her, we all die.”, he was trembling, out of fear, anger or self-restriction (Ecclesiasticus 25:24). “See you in hell.”, Mrs. Darling pushed him over and he fell into the water. A mermaid, with blue eyes and golden hair, a predator, no longer a young girl bound by earth´s restrictions, orbited him before she struck like a shark, completely oblivious of her mother´s presence. Predators and prey disappeared in the depth of the ocean.

And the sea turned red. 


End file.
